


Inadequately coping

by This_ape_writes



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Punk Scully, Rating: PG13, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_ape_writes/pseuds/This_ape_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I was bit by the Punk Scully AU bug like so many others. My brain took me down the "what if" of if the goings on in the first few seasons of cannon actually hit when these kids were in college. Scully being taken, Mulder losing his dad, Melissa being killed. Handling that level of trauma at 20 is different than handling that level trauma in your 30's and this is my take of Mulder not holding things together very well. (Forgive the inaccuracies as well. I know when these guys were actually in college there was no such thing as texting or HIPPA laws or Victoria's Secret body spray or even cd's for that matter but meh... It's an alternate universe.)</p>
<p>This also was deeply inspired by this (http://archiveofourown.org/works/798751) beautiful beautiful story by Jo Robbins (plenilune) Specifically this line that says:  "You do not tell her that you nearly swerved into the opposite lane with an absentmindedness that frightens you with how little it frightens you."  I read this months ago and this has been rolling in my head ever since. This is my poor attempt at my take on this line.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Inadequately coping

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gnossienne for Night-Driving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/798751) by [Jo Robbins (plenilune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plenilune/pseuds/Jo%20Robbins). 



> So I was bit by the Punk Scully AU bug like so many others. My brain took me down the "what if" of if the goings on in the first few seasons of cannon actually hit when these kids were in college. Scully being taken, Mulder losing his dad, Melissa being killed. Handling that level of trauma at 20 is different than handling that level trauma in your 30's and this is my take of Mulder not holding things together very well. (Forgive the inaccuracies as well. I know when these guys were actually in college there was no such thing as texting or HIPPA laws or Victoria's Secret body spray or even cd's for that matter but meh... It's an alternate universe.)
> 
> This also was deeply inspired by this (http://archiveofourown.org/works/798751) beautiful beautiful story by Jo Robbins (plenilune) Specifically this line that says: "You do not tell her that you nearly swerved into the opposite lane with an absentmindedness that frightens you with how little it frightens you." I read this months ago and this has been rolling in my head ever since. This is my poor attempt at my take on this line.

The police were relentless. They started asking questions before I was fully coherent, and I had such a severe headache I could only squint at the officer through one eye as he paced the room. It was disrupting my depth perception and I wanted nothing more than for him to go away. 

To let me sleep.

To let me wallow. 

But he was relentless. I'd gauged him at being maybe eight months on the job. Maybe nine. 

I was like him once. 

Eager. 

Alive. 

There was no evident sign of mechanical defect in my car. No skid marks showing I had attempted to avoid any kind of object in the roadway. No sign of any other vehicles in the area. What exactly had happened? 

I wasn't under oath. Lying, although not a great idea, was not going to perjure me. Yet. So I lied. I lied right to his over eager police face. 

But I hadn't fallen asleep. I hadn't even been tired. I hadn't slept at all since my dad...and I hadn't slept well since Samantha. I sure as hell wasn't going to start sleeping while I was behind the wheel of a car. 

If the rookie could sense my untruthfulness though, he didn't let on. Turns out he was not just ruthless but gullible to boot. I liked this guy. I liked him even after he left me with a 550$ ticket that I was going to have to work off my record with an all day Saturday defensive driving class. That was ok. My car was well on its way to being declared a total loss so I wouldn't be driving for awhile anyway. 

Or it was ok until I realized that no car meant I was stranded at this hospital a good four hours from home. Then, not so ok. I'd spent my grant money months ago so cash wasn't flowing real freely. That meant a cab was out of the question. We were in the middle of nowhere so a bus wasn't likely either. That left me with only one option. 

I was going to have to call her. 

I had no other choice. Believe me, if I had, I would have used it but I had taken this last year as a golden opportunity to burn as many bridges in my life as I could, so she was it. The only one left. 

And I'd tried to torch our bridge so many times I had lost count months ago, but she had a damn fire extinguisher on her at all times. Dousing the flames. Staying in my life. 

Still...

I really did not want to call her. She would not be as easy to confuse as Officer Relentless Gullibility had been. I would say 'hey it's me' and she'd already know the truth before 'it's' left my mouth. 

Maybe I didn't have to call?

Maybe I could send a text. 

Yo--I'm at the Aurora hospital and I could really use a ride if that's cool? ;)

I even added a semi colon winking smiley face to the end of the thought. But I couldn't hit send. I let the cursor blink itself in waiting for a few pulses and then deleted the whole thing out. Texting was a no go. 

I had to call her. 

She answered on the third ring with, 'where are you'. She didn't sound mad exactly but she didn't sound happy. Emotions are hard to gauge with just a voice. I told her where I was and she hung up. I assumed that meant she was on her way. 

This time I did send off a text with the address in it so she would know where she was going. 

I know, I'm such a fucking gentleman. 

Here I was, trying to start a bridge fire again.  
We'd done this dance so often over the course of the last few years that I knew how it was going to play out. She was going to arrive and look me over. She'd lecture me in all the ways I had just been a complete ass. Then we'd get the hell out of dodge and she'd find some way to grab ahold of my hand and hold me to reality in that irritatingly forward gesture of comfort. 

Although this time I had fucked up worse than usual. I'd had drinking benders and I'd disappear off the grid and had silent treatment jags that had lasted weeks but I'd never tried to hurt myself before. And I knew she was going to instantly know my falling asleep at the wheel tale was complete and utter bullshit. 

My head hurt. 

I needed to sleep. 

Maybe I'd just rest my eyes. 

 

I woke up to her standing next to the bed reading my chart. That probably violated HIPPA regulations but I wasn't going to tell her that. 

"You broke your collar bone, two ribs, and you sprained your wrist. You also have a severe concussion and abrasions and bruises everywhere I can see." She flipped the chart closed and hung it back on the bed. "Well done," she said. I irrationally braced myself for a physical assault but she didn't move towards me at all. She also didn't look up. Instead, she just stood there, staring at the ground. 

 

The lighting in this hospital was awful with those fluorescent lights that made colors painful. She reached up and pushed her hair back from her forehead and I saw the deep shadows that were fixed to her eyes. The awful lighting made them look like bruises. My chest hurt. She was three years younger than me but right now she looked much, much older. Like someone who was carrying the stress of all of the world. And I knew it was my direct fault, of that I had zero doubts. 

I'd expected anger. That's what I usually got when I screwed up. But she wasn't angry. Not this time. She didn't even look irritated. She looked defeated and tired and scared to death. 

I had supremely fucked up. 

And she still hadn't looked at me. She turned away from the bed and walked across the room to stoop and pick up her purse, throwing it across her body as she stood again. 

"Can you leave?" She asked, faced away from me as she spoke. I had to swallow a few times before I could speak loud enough to be heard. 

"Yes. I signed out a few hours ago." 

She nodded. 

"I'll get a wheelchair. Wait here," she said. 

I could have walked out on my own but right then I was so desperate to get back into her good graces I would have done anything she asked. Anything. You want the president of Argentina assassinated? He'll be dead before the ten o'clock news. 

Finding a wheelchair didn't take long. This place was crawling with them. She clipped the door frame and then wheeled it close enough so I could get in with minimum effort. 

She still hadn't looked me in the eye once. 

The mechanical bed helped me sit up and I eased down into the wheelchair without any problems. I was pleasantly surprised, considering how injured I actually was. She knelt down next to me to slide the foot pedals down into place on the chair and I had a wave of impulse to touch her hair. 

I didn't. 

And I know I had several broken bones that would have made touching me a tactical pain riddled nightmare but she hadn't even tried. She hadn't so much as brushed against my sleeve.

We rolled past the nurses station and into the hallway to wait for an elevator. She was only inches away but she was nowhere near me. 

I couldn't take it anymore. 

I reached up to grab ahold of her hand that was holding the wheelchair in place. As soon as my fingers touched her, she slid her hand away. She wasn't gentle about it but she wasn't rude. It was just a very matter of fact deliberate movement away from me and out of my reach. 

I turned as much as I could and tried to look at her but her eyes were locked to the elevator doors. She had tucked her hands under her arms and we waited for the elevator to make it's way up to our seventh floor hide out. 

I studied psychology. Basic body language knowledge is a gimme for me. One word describes her posture and stance. Protection. And you only need protection when there's a threat. 

The realization that the threat to her is actually me makes me flinch. 

The elevator dinged to make its presence known as the doors slid open, and she grabbed the chair again and pushed me inside the empty elevator room. The doors dinged a warning of closing and slid shut. 

"I'm sorry," I said. She heard me. She had to. I was practically yelling when I said it and we were the only two souls in a confined space. She didn't acknowledge me in any way. Not a movement or a flinch or a blink or a breath. 

Her fire extinguisher it seemed, had extinguished itself out leaving behind a glorious bridge fire to consume us both. 

We reached the ground floor with another ding and she pushed me forward. 

I wanted to cry. 

I could see her car before we even made it outdoors. She'd parked right outside the double doors. She unlocked it with her key and she opened the passengers door and leaned against it.

Ok. Now let's be honest here. Yes I I still wanted very badly for her to touch me but I also didn't want her to worry anymore than she already was so I fought back and forth with what to do before deciding my ribs hurt like hell and I legitimately did need her help getting into the car. I looked up at her. 

"Uh..." I said and she closed her eyes and rolled them behind her eyelids as she rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry," I said again but she waved me off. Her fingers slid around my uninjured arm and she guided it around her shoulders. It wasn't exactly the hug I wanted but I felt my mouth twitch a smile as I leaned against her. 

She smelled like pancake batter, love potion body spray from Victoria's Secret and cigarettes. 

My chest hurt again. 

I'd convinced her to stop smoking five years ago. Now I'd convinced her to start. 

I was a little impressed with how strong she was. Most of my weight was supported on her as I held my breath to keep my ribs steady and sat down in the passengers seat. She helped me swing inside without twisting too much and before I could catch my breath she had pulled the seatbelt away from the door and was reaching across me to buckle it in. 

She used to roll her own smokes. It saved money that way but they smelled horrible. She'd upgraded this go around I could tell by the density of the smoke that clung to her now. Marlboro reds if I had to wager. 

She clicked the seatbelt in place and started to lean back out of the car. 

"Thank you," I said. "I'm really sorry." She stopped her progression towards the outside and she sighed all of her air out of her lungs as she leaned over me. She closed her eyes again and shook her head. 

"I heard you the first eight times." She said, "but you're not. Not really. I know it's juvenile to say but sorry, means you won't do it again. And let's not lie to each other ..." She shook her head and stood up closing the door and leaving me in this Toyota coffin of silence. 

I could hear her pushing the wheelchair back towards the hospital and I glanced over my shoulder to watch her go and my rib wrenched a groan out of me when I did. 

This was bad. This was so bad. My head was pounding and my pulse was tearing through my veins. 

I'd never entertained the idea of her not being there. I don't know why. We weren't together. She didn't owe me anything. All we were was glorified classmates really, although deep down I knew we were more than that. Still and getting called out on a four hour road trip to pick your crazy ass friend up from a hospital after attempted vehicular suicide was not fair to anyone. 

But as I sat there, in the silent car, I thought about this actually being the final straw and having literally no one in my corner which was looking more and more likely. Not that I really considered myself a danger to myself anymore, the moment had long since passed, but the thought of being alone made me wish just a tiny bit that I had succeeded in my mission the night before. I didn't want to go through any of this at all, but alone? I couldn't lose her. I couldn't. 

The opening car door pulled my attention away from myself and I looked up to watch her climb in. What do I say? Apologies are worthless. Explanations won't work if I can't even explain to myself what's happened. I just want to keep her from hurting any more, for her to forgive me, and for her to stay. 

Tall order. 

I watch in terrified silence as she moves her keys in her hand and sticks the right one in the ignition. She turns the car on and she stares at the steering wheel for a beat. 

"It's a long drive," she says. Her voice calm. "You should sleep as much as you can." 

Again, I would do whatever she asked. That is literally the least that I could do. So I was going to do my damnedest to sleep. 

That and I was still burning some really quality pain meds through my blood stream so this might be the last chance I would get to sleep for awhile.

Also I had given up on finding what to say. In other words, I gave in to being a coward. I leaned against the window working with my pain and fell asleep. 

When I woke up this time, it was dark. And too quiet. I snapped myself awake and realized the car was stopped I was alone and disoriented. I looked around and could tell we were in some kind of parking lot but whatever establishment it was attached to had long since closed shop. I looked in the back seat to confirm my aloneness and I saw her silhouette through the back window. 

I popped my door open and swung my legs out but my pain meds were long gone and I had to get up my nerve to stand. 

"You can stay in the car I'm almost done," she said. 

"No. I could...I could stretch my legs a bit," I said. My ribs were yelling at me to take her advice and my wrist and collar bone were seconding the motion on the table. I overruled their comments and stood up. I steadied myself and closed the door and walked around to the back of the car where she was half way through a cigarette. 

"So you're sm..." 

"No. You don't even get to start," she said in a voice that was low and calm and soaked in anger. I shut up and nodded. 

"Ok. That's fair," I said. She snorted. 

"Fair?" She said. She grabbed the edge of the trunk with both of her hands and pulled herself forward. "Fuck you," she said. "Just...fuck you." 

"Ok," I said. "I'm sorry." She shook her head and pulled in a long drag. She held it in and then let it out in an angry explosion of breath. 

"I called you. I knew you were in one of your damn silent modes but I called you. For two weeks."

"I'm sorry," I said. She tipped her head up and shook it. 

"Christ, you can't..." She continued to shake her head but she dropped her chin back down so that it touched her chest. "I know this has been a really shitty couple of years. I know you've been through too much in your life, but fuck you, you can't keep doing this to me," she said. Her voice still sounded calm but I didn't think for one second she actually was. 

She jumped down off the trunk and took another drag as she walked a few steps away. 

"I know it's gotten worse. I'm not stupid," she turned around again to look at me. "Or blind." She took another breath of smoke and looked down at the ground. 

"But I've always been there. My shrink calls it enabling. My mother calls it toxic. I don't even know what it is anymore but I've always fucking been there." All I can do is nod as she walks a few steps closer. "We've always been a team. You've saved my life," she said. "...so many times. But you didn't fucking give me the chance to save yours," she punctuated her curse word with a crack in her voice which she tried to cover up with a cough. 

I grabbed ahold of her arm. 

"I'm sorry,"seemed to be all I was capable of saying. But I was. To spite what she said before. I really was sorry. 

She looked up at me. 

The moon was on its way to being full so I could see her whole face. This was the first time she had looked at me since she picked me up and I had thought that I wanted eye contact from her but now all I wanted was for her to stop. 

She looked hurt and fiery and lost. 

"You gave up. You fucking gave up. We always fight. Together. Why did you quit?" She asked. 

That was an awful question. I had no answer. 

All I had was one good arm and I used it to wrap around her. I slid my hand into her hair and held her head to my chest as I pulled her against me as tight as I could. So tight I was in pain. But I held on. 

My actions startled her enough that she dropped her cigarette. In the dark I could see the lit end explode into orange fragments at our feet. 

Her arms stayed planted at her side. But she turned her head to the side and didn't pull back. 

"I've been here. I've always been here. Bailed you out middle of the night, had you throw up in my car and I kept going because your methods were screwy but at least you were fighting to be ok. Why did you give up?" She asks again. 

I wish I had an answer. It hadn't been a premeditated action. I'd just impulsively driven. It probably should have scared me with how much it didn't scare me at all.

"I don't know," I answered. She pushed against me and I wasn't able to hold on. She took in a deep breath to collect herself as she turned away from me and pulled her keys out of her pocket. 

"It's late. We've still got about an hours drive,"she said. She unlocked the car and opened her door. 

"Wait I," I tried, but she had already shut the door and started the engine. For a split second of irrationality I was afraid she was going to leave me here on the side of the road and I started walking to the passengers side as fast as my injuries would let me. I opened the door to her cramming headphones into her ears and turning up the volume on her CD player that was always in her car door. 

I turned around so that I could ease myself into the chair and my bones were shaking their heads saying we told you not to get out of the car. I pulled my legs in but before I reached out to close the door I reached over to her and popped the closest earbud out of her ear and rested my hand on her arm. 

"Hang on a second. Let me say something," I said. 

"What?" She asked. 

"I uh..." Crap. I was losing my nerve. I should have just let her ignore me. What the hell was I doing? But it was too late for that. She shut down her music and pulled out the other earphone as she turned to look at me. 

"What is it?" she said. I stopped breathing. I stopped breathing and my heart just fucking broke. It wasn't what she said, it was how she said it, with an impossible amount of empathy and concern etched all across her face. Concern that I did not deserve at all. After all the late nights of worry, after weeks of shutting off from her, after treating her like complete shit, she was still worried about me, she still cared, and that broke me. 

Tears flooded into my throat and squeezed into my vision and down my face to spite my efforts to hold them back and I shook my head as I stared at the ceiling. 

"Shit. I need help," I said. 

"What?" She asked. She was probably in shock. I had rebuffed the offer of shrinks and therapists and hospitals so many times it was ridiculous. But I was being honest. I needed help. I couldn't do this anymore either. 

"I need help," I said. "I don't WANT to do this again. I want my sorry to mean something to you." She stared at me. Probably in an effort to gauge how serious I was. She must have realized the answer was really fucking serious because she patted my hand on her arm and to spite how dark it was I saw her lips twitch out a smile. 

"Ok," she said. "Tomorrow. For now get some more sleep." I nodded and awkwardly twisted to put on my seatbelt with my non dominant hand. I sniffed and tried my best to curl up and do as she said. I closed my eyes and tried to even out my breathing as she pulled out onto the highway again. 

After a long time of deep even breathing I was finally calming down when I heard her move. I almost jumped when she wrapped her fingers around my uninjured hand. I didn't dare move or show any sign of being awake. I didn't want her to stop. She slid her fingers inbetween my own and settled her arm on the center console as she drove. 

That irritatingly forward gesture of comfort was once again holding me to reality and to spite my lack of deserving her, I was so grateful she was here.


End file.
